You're Just Lois Lane
by achildofthestars
Summary: Lois/Clark. It would be nice. To be that someone. That one.
1. Chapter 1

Title: You're Just Lois Lane

Part I of II

* * *

You are the reason for his existence. You are the reason he will become who he is meant to be. You are the only one he can murder and love at the same time. You are the smile he looks for when he walks into a room. You are the heartbeat he listens to so he can keep time. You are his world. His match. His everything.

* * *

It would be nice. To be that someone. That _one_. You fall onto your bed with your rumpled clothes and rumpled thoughts trying to straighten themselves out before beginning another Daily Planet day tomorrow. Your shoes fall, one by one, with soft thuds that are nothing like the hard thuds of your heart beating inside your chest at the reality of what's to come. Tired eyes close and you wish you could close the drawer holding onto memories of moments where you were someone to him. The blanket wraps around you and for a second you wonder if this is what it would feel like if he were to tell you he needed you.

In your sleep, the dreams aren't about him. They're about nothing.

* * *

You realize the knocking sound isn't some form of delusion or the television you're pretty sure you didn't even turn on last night. You ignore it, instead burying your head further under the covers and deciding five more minutes of sleep won't hurt. Somewhere a phone rings and you groan as you realize it's your cell, beckoning you with a short ring you're all too familiar with. Muttering something about death and bodily orifice concerning one dark haired man you know, you emerge from your cocoon into the cool morning of March and head for the shower.

* * *

The smirk on your lips complements the annoyed tilt of his brow as you open the door for him.

"Why Clark, how long have you been out here?"

The coffee cup in his right hand is snatched by your deft hands as you slide to the way.

"Not even back for a day and you're already torturing me."

"Well, Smallville," you close the door behind him. "I've got a lot of missed time to make up for. I mean, a month without my humbling presence and your head is probably in the clouds."

His smile tightens in mock pleasure and you suddenly feel like this is what you've missed most of all. Rubbing him wrong, drawing out something in him he's not comfortable with, nudging him ceaselessly.

"I _did_ come with the intentions of welcoming you home…."

While you should tell him this isn't home, that this is nowhere near to home, you don't. His home is not yours. You're just stuck being homeless. So he doesn't read your face, you turn away and head to your too small kitchen.

"Then why don't you, Smallville? Don't tell me your manners are finally gone without my endearing presence."

The way he follows you makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

"Lois," he stops with a sigh, digging his hands into the pockets of his slacks and you notice one lock of that dark hair falling over his forehead as he stares at you. "Welcome back."

The defeat in his voice makes you laugh and he follows with a smile.

"Cheer up. You know you missed your other half."

You lean up, with no thought running through the jumbled mess you call a brain, and with one hand swiftly comb the errant strands back into their rightful place. Honestly, you didn't think it would feel like this. It shouldn't feel like this and your hand pulls away quick enough to still feel his hair on your skin even as it meets the thin counter.

His body is still, rigid even, as you clear your throat. His eyes always give him away, but this time you two aren't alone in a barn at a wedding. You're in an apartment with his one true love tugging at him on a regular morning. Instead of believing in his look, you pick your coffee up with a wary glance before pouring it down the drain.

"What the hell did you put in this, Smallville?"

* * *

You make up your mind, as you sit at your desk into the dark of night, that this is over. Whatever it was that drew you and him closer, you cut. Rolling the pen between two fingers, you nod your head slightly at his empty chair as if he agrees. And he does. You know he does. You felt it all day as he tried not to look at you, touch you, talk you out of something ludicrous and involving clowns. But, why did he give you those stolen looks, that grin as you nearly killed your computer, a soft goodbye when you said you were staying?

A frown smoothly marks your forehead as your lips pucker in thought of him. Lana's gone, or so he'd told you. He couldn't hide the confusion and unease in his body and you knew the battle hadn't even started and yet you'd lost.

If you hadn't already made up his mind for him, you'd tell him to do it himself. He can't have her and you. He can't love one and pursue the other. He can't make her first and you second. You won't let him.

You stand slowly. You're jealous of her. She's the one who has his heart and can't give it back. She's the girl he dreams about and wants to save every day of his life. She's the vision of goodness he abides by, swallows, breathes.

You are not the reason for his existence. You aren't the reason he becomes the man he should be. You aren't even the one who conflicts him. You are not the smile he searches for. You are not the heartbeat he keeps with his. You are not his world. His match. His everything.

Because you? You're just Lois Lane.

* * *

A/N: So, how did I do for my first Smallville chapter? I know I'm still not great at their characterizations, but I'd like to think I got some things right. ;)


	2. Chapter 2

Title: You're just Lois Lane

Part II of II

A/N: I really have to thank all of you guys for giving me the courage to post the second half of this. Thanks so much.

* * *

You are not the reason he survives. You are not the one keeping him together at the ends. You aren't the light at the end of the tunnel. You are not the way he searches for. You are not the beacon that draws him home. You are not the one he calls for when all hope is lost.

* * *

You sneeze, the dust from old papers and files forgotten seeping into your nose and gliding down your trachea with stealth.

"Lois?!"

Your spine stiffens, not much, but enough to show that you're still uncomfortable with this new place you've forced yourself inside. Even in the grayness, you can make out his figure coming towards you between aisles of boxes stuffed with simple articles that tower above his head.

Turning, a few files in your hand, you lift at eyebrow at his appearance. He looks boyish tonight, his hair ruffled as if he's been running for miles and his cheeks flushed in the single light of a lamp like the air is too cold for him.

"You look like crap, Smallville," you lie. His eyes are bright, much too bright, and there's something loose about the way he's standing so close to you.

"I always look like crap according to your standards."

With a shrug, you sit on the creaky desk left abandoned down here years ago where the sunlight can't touch it, not even on the brightest day.

"I could schedule you a shopping date with Bruce."

A noise emits from the back of his throat and you're not sure if it's a gag or a guffaw; it's probably both.

"You, Clark Kent, the most optimistic farm boy on Earth, hate Bruce?"

"I don't _hate_ him."

"Well, you don't _like_ him."

"Unlike you, Lois, I am able to have more than two emotions."

"Right. Like moping?"

Really, you don't know where it comes from. Well, you do, but you hadn't intended on voicing your thoughts though you should know yourself better to know you can't keep your mouth shut. He surprises you then. Instead of looking hurt at the mention of his failed romance, he lowers his head to look at you with a pointed look that seems to tell you he thinks you're just annoying. That's new.

"She was my first love, Lois."

"Yeah, yeah, your one true love. I know. Spare me the Lana-Clark Epic."

He draws back, a frown deepening and creating shadows that swallow his face now that he's blocking the light from the lamp on a footstool. It surprises you that for a second he's not the good guy you can count on. He's the man stuck on the wrong side of the mirror, dark and filled with a hunger for something he can't satiate. And then Smallville's back, his shoulders a little lower and a tug of his lips falling to gravity as he leans against the desk beside your thigh so his weight won't knock you both down.

His look isn't directed at you, but you know his words are only for your ears.

"I've been…waiting for the right time to say this." He takes in a deep breath. "But every time I think about saying it, you find a way of scaring it to the back of my mind." This time he smiles just barely and finally turns his head towards you. "I'm sorry, Lois."

There are very few times where you're speechless. His sincerity flies through and wrenches your conscience dry, even though you have nothing to feel sorry for.

"For what? Being the bane of my existence? The Paula to my Simon?"

He seems to be searching your face, sifting through the rocks and the reflective glass to find the kernel of truth beneath. You don't know if you want him to find it or not, unsure of what's left of you to give and not get back.

"For what happened with Lana…and us."

The scoff can't sound nearly as forced as you think it does. "Smallville, don't flatter yourself. We're Lois and Clark, archenemies till the end of time. I'm hardly sad that our awkward moment of madness was broken before I saw red."

The lips shape into a smile that you don't quite believe, but he looks at you with something like amusement behind those eyes.

"Why do I get the feeling that's a good thing for your new friend?"

"Because, Kent." You grab onto the lifesaver with a yelp. "Any man would be lucky with a kick ass Lois Lane behind him."

His grin meets yours, and even though your heart cracks just the slightest, you know you'll live.

"I just want you to be careful around him. There's something," he frowns thoughtfully, "not right about him."

"About Bruce Wayne? Smallville, your time in Metropolis has made you paranoid. There's nothing _not_ right about him."

An exasperated sigh escapes his lips and you nearly want to smile. Nearly, and so you bite your lip.

"You're not going to listen to me, are you?"

"Nope."

"Well," he shifts closer so his shoulder leans into yours. "I probably won't have to worry long, anyways."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Come on, Lois. Any man who ends up with you is going to have to have incredible patience."

It's a dig, obviously. However, in the dark, you can pretend so many things don't exist. He is just Clark, and you are just Lois.

"And a quick wit."

"Along with a high tolerance for pain."

"Oh, he'll have to be invulnerable to pain. And have super strength considering I'm a hell of a good fighter."

"A big ego to think he can control you."

"He better be able to drive like he's in Nascar if he wants to catch me."

Clark looks at you, that same light frown you see too much on his face when he's battling something within. You swear he's beginning to lean too close into your defined space, but he halts, his eyes becoming brighter and confused at the same time.

"Or he could use simple super-speed to get you."

"Psh. He may as well fly, too."

His lost smile resurfaces and you feel slightly afraid at the way it seems to curl around you as he breathes, "Maybe he will."

"Uh, Smallville?"

"Lois?"

"I know my grape flavored personal bubble is enticing, but I'd hate to have to kill you and then tell Mrs. Kent."

He's the only person you know who can make his entire face smile even if his mouth is already stretched to his ears. Most of the time it annoys the hell out of you, like now.

"Clark, sometimes I swear the only reason you exist is to make me want to kill you, or myself."

Standing, he shakes his head and reaches out an arm, his hand palm up as if an invitation. You take it and he pulls you up with no effort. It won't hurt to do this one little thing. It's not as if anything's changed.

"I wouldn't let you kill yourself."

"Why not? I'd finally have some peace away from you," you grumble, not lying in the least.

You feel him look down at you as his fingers linger on the knob of the lamp, the light yellow on both your faces, tempting and subtle with the hint that something is just in the shadows, that his eyes still aren't lying when they say words he shouldn't know.

_You are the reason I survive. You are the only one holding me at the frayed ends. You're my light at the end of the dark tunnel. You are the way I walk to. You are the beautiful beacon that always draws me home. You are the name I scream for when all hope is lost. You are the essence of my existence. You are the reason I will become who I'm destined to be. You are the only one I can murder and kiss at the same time. You are the smile I dream of when I'm alone. You are the heartbeat greater than mine. You are my world. My match. My everything._

"Because you? You're _the _Lois Lane."


End file.
